The Meland log house, September, 1838. The place is crowded with bales and bundles.
It is obvious that the settlers are leaving. Even some of the pots and pans are packed,
their handles protruding from the wrappings. The stove and washtub stand as before, the
table and benches, and the big cowhide-covered chair. The other movable furniture,
including spinning wheel and rustic chairs, is gone.

As the curtain rises,

ELISIF stands by the window, and SINA are packing,
and MRS. ELLINGSEN sits by the table, knitting.

SINA. The house was mine. Even when it was gone, the land was mine. The dam broke and
illness came, but I was needed. I have been needed ever since. (Her voice breaks.)
The children have needed me . . .

She goes toward the bedroom door, right. ELISIF checks her.

ELISIF. Don't waken them. Father Ellingsen may come soon; the children need their
sleep.

SINA. I won't waken them. I love them. Who will need me in Fox River Valley?

MRS. ELLINGSEN. Father and I will need thee, my child. Thou art all we have.

RYNNING. You must leave, Brandt. Your opportunity is in Chicago. You'd starve here.

DR. BRANDT. Perhaps. But without help, you're lost, my boy.

RYNNING. It is as bad as that?

DR. BRANDT. Yes. We'll have to amputate your leg. Gangrene has set in already.

RYNNING. (In horror) Never! No amputation!

DR. BRANDT. It's your only chance.

RYNNING. Then I gladly give up my only chance.

DR. BRANDT. For Elisif's sake . . .

RYNNING. Elisif must leave, I tell you. Do you think I want her to sacrifice herself
for me -- for a man who is finished with life? All of you must leave before the rain
starts, or you won't get through the swamp. Hurry! Get ready to go.

DR. BRANDT. No doctor would leave a patient in your condition.

RYNNING. (With new strength) I forbid you to stay!

DR. BRANDT. You need my help, man.

RYNNING. (To LARS) Why are you standing like that? Hurry, get ready,
Lars! Pack. Pack Elisif's things and be ready when the wagons pull out.

LARS goes toward the door, right.

LARS. It'll be a happy moment for me when I leave Beaver Creek!

Exit, right.

RYNNING. Leave immediately, Brandt. Nattestad can take care of me.

NATTESTAD. I can't operate.

RYNNING. There'll be no amputation. I can't see myself dragging around, on one leg.
Rather die! (Pleadingly) Brandt, promise me to take care of Elisif. It's the
greatest service you can do me. She needs you. I'm done for. I have lost the will to live.
Leave, Brandt.

DR. BRANDT. But . . .

RYNNING. (With new strength) No buts! Do as I say. She's coming. Not a
word to her of my condition, do you hear? The last favor I'm asking of you . . .

Enter ELISIF, right, carrying the bucket.

RYNNING. (With simulated cheerfulness) Nattestad and Brandt, run out to help
Ellingsen. It sounds as if they're having trouble with the teams.

DR. BRANDT hesitates, then turns toward the door.

DR. BRANDT. Have it your way. But I'll always blame myself for what I'm doing now.

RYNNING. Ankle sprained, that's all. Elisif, I want you to do me a favor.

ELISIF. (Eagerly) I'd do anything in the world for you.

RYNNING. (Smiling) In the lower bunk, under my pillow -- there is a locket. Will
you get it for me?

ELISIF, surprised, fetches the locket and gives it to him.

RYNNING. (Opening the locket) That is the picture of the girl I love, Elisif.

ELISIF. (Grief-stricken) The girl you love? It's true, then?

RYNNING. (As if unhearing) The girl I love better than anyone else in the world.

ELISIF. (Heartbroken) Oh!

RYNNING. You have been like a sister to me, Elisif.

ELISIF. A sister?

RYNNING. I have always fancied that Inga and you and I would live together.

ELISIF. Live together?

RYNNING. (With an effort) Yes, the three of us. She is like an angel from
heaven.

ELISIF. She is?

RYNNING. No man who knew her could ever love anyone else.

ELISIF. (Whispering) I understand. I understand.

RYNNING. (Bringing out a letter) Elisif, leave with the others -- for my sake.
Here is a letter to my father. You know the fate of most letters nowadays; few of them
reach their destination. This letter is important. I'm entrusting it to you. Put it into
the post office with your own hands. Then it may get to my father. Inga's parents are
poor. I am asking my father to send her over to me.

ELISIF. (Taking the letter) I'll send it. Since you care so much for her.

DR. BRANDT. (Clasping his hand) Good-by, Rynning, You are a brave man. Take care
of him, Nattestad!

Exit, left, with a silent farewell. The wagons creak and groan as they leave.

NATTESTAD. (At the window) Now we are alone. The place seems empty. (He
sings.)

Yes, now they are fleeing from Beaver Creek,
Those few with life yet remaining,

The graves of the others you'll find, if you seek
For a cross under skies always raining!

RYNNING. (Weakly) A sad song, but true. Horribly true!

NATTESTAD. (Crossing to him) My, but you're in a fix! Someone should have stayed
with us!

RYNNING. We'll manage. Heat water and I'll tell you what to do.

NATTESTAD. (Pouring water from the bucket into a kettle on the stove) This is
bad, bad!

RYNNING. (Faintly) I'm a failure, Nattestad. A rank failure. Yet my dream was so
real to me; it seems impossible that it won't come true.

NATTESTAD. You mean getting all the poor people from Europe over to America?

RYNNING. If they knew the real America, they would come.

NATTESTAD. Sure, they would. This is a fine country, if people would only look before
they bought. I'll run traplines this winter, to get a stake. Next spring I'll go up to the
new country, there in Wisconsin, and I'll be rich before you know it!

RYNNING. If I could describe to the toiling masses in Europe how this country really is
-- shout it to them -- write it. Write it. (An idea dawns on him; he straightens)

RYNNING. Never mind the leg. I'll write night and day until the very end. I shall live
long enough to write down all the truth about America. Pen and paper!

NATTESTAD. (Bringing quill and paper) Here! You'll write a book?

RYNNING takes the quill and paper and begins to write.

RYNNING. Yes, a book . . .. A true account of America . . . for the information and
help of peasant and common man . . . written by a Norwegian . . . who arrived there in
June, 1837 (He pauses) But how can I get it to the old country?

NATTESTAD. My brother Ansten is going back home next spring. Get your book ready. He'll
take it along.

NATTESTAD bends down and picks up the locket, which has fallen open.

NATTESTAD. Who is this girl? Is she the sweetheart people think you have in the old
country?

RYNNING. (Taking the locket) I have no sweetheart anywhere. This is a picture of
my cousin Inga. The girl I love left Beaver Creek just now. But she will never know I love
her. Elisif!

CURTAIN

After the curtain falls, the theater remains dark while the orchestra plays softly
and the scene of the steamship office is set up in front of the curtain.

DIDRIKSEN has ended his story, in the steamship once. NONA, BILL, and the
narrator are in the same position as at the end of the Prologue.

DIDRIKSEN. And so, a dying man, he wrote this book.

NONA. (Softly) The poor man! . . . Was the book taken back to the old country?

DIDRIKSEN. Yes. Ansten Nattestad took it back. It was published there. Because Ole
Rynning had suffered and died, his words carried weight. Here was a man who, even in
personal misfortune, saw the promise of America. Here was reality, written by a man who
knew! The wave of immigration, which Ole Rynning hoped for, was the direct result of this
book. The poor of Norway did find a refuge in America!

BILL. So Rynning won out, even though he died.

NONA. (Taking his hand) Oh, Bill, now I realize better what your work means. I
won't sneer at it again. Immigration is America's history. Sail across, and find out all
about this vanguard that preceded us!